


Years in the Making

by AmaranthPrincess21



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 01:38:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2173119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmaranthPrincess21/pseuds/AmaranthPrincess21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the age of six years old, you arrive in Jinae and befriend Marco Bott. Over the years, the two of you grow close, staying by each other's side through thick and thin. Wherever he goes, you go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Years in the Making

**Author's Note:**

> This is a contest piece I did for AttackonTitanxReader over on DA. Their theme was anniversaries, and since everything happens on an anniversary in this story, I thought it would be a good submission.

You were six years old when your father got a nice job offer in the Jinae District of Wall Rose. It was an offer too good to turn down, so your family packed up their things and left Trost behind. Your new home was nice, but it lacked the home-y feeling of your old house, in your opinion. You were in your new bedroom, making a nice living space for your dolls when your mother’s voice floated up the stairs, beckoning you to come down stairs.

“Coming, Mama!” you yelled down to her, getting up on your feet and scurrying down the stair case. Your parents were talking animatedly with a couple in the living room. In between the two strangers sat a boy that looked like he was your age. His light brown eyes were surveying the room, hands folded in his lap. 

“There you are!” your mother greeted you as you sauntered into the room, motioning for you to come closer. “[First], this is the Bott family. They’re our new neighbors and came over to welcome us to the neighborhood.” You sheepishly waved to the three sitting in your living room. The boy was giving you his full attention, looking straight at you. _Wow, he’s got a lot of freckles,_ you mused, returning his look. He hopped off the couch and made a beeline for you. He extended his hand to you politely, a cheerful and bright smile on his face. 

“Hi, I’m Marco!” 

A year later, you were seven years old when you found yourself sitting on a bench at school, crying as the other kids made fun of you. Your [h/c] hair was done in two fishtail braids, and apparently that was a radical, unacceptable hair style in the other children’s minds. 

“Why don’t you do your hair like a normal girl?” a boy shot at you. “Your hair looks stupid!” 

“B-but I like it l-like this,” you sniffled, hugging your knees to your chest even tighter. 

“That’s another thing, why are you wearing pants? You’re a girl. Girls don’t wear pants,” a gangly girl demanded. 

“Th-they’re easier to play in than dresses,” you tried to explain yourself, just like you had been trying to for the past five minutes. But it was all in vain; no matter how hard you tried, they refused to understand. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” a familiar voice called out. Marco pushed his way through the crowd, around you, trying to figure out what was wrong. 

“[First] is a mess,” a girl told him. He raised a dark eyebrow at her before looking at you. 

“No she’s not,” he replied. 

“Yeah she is! Can’t you see her hair done all weird?” a girl inquired. 

“It’s done in two parts like everyone else’s. In fact, her hair is more unique than your guys’ since she has it differently. It looks nice on her,” Marco complimented you. You buried your face in your arms to hide your blushing face. 

“But she’s wearing pants instead of a dress or a skirt! That’s just weird!” a boy argued. 

“[First] plays hard, she can’t wear a skirt. Girls, isn’t it hard to run and hop fences in a skirt?” Marco asked them. A few, starting to look embarrassed, nodded and murmured in agreement. “If she wore a skirt, it’d get ripped or hold her back. Wearing pants is the only logical choice,” Marco concluded. The boy who had started the whole thing rolled his eyes at your friend. 

“She’s still a freak, there’s no getting around that. She had this coming,” the boy told him. 

“If we’re going to make fun of people because of their appearance, then we should be making fun of you too. No one but you has straggly hair like yours; you’re a freak too by your own logic,” Marco said, and while you knew he said it not out of spite but to make his point, the others missed that entirely. Giggles erupted from the group, calling out the boy for his straggly hair. He growled, glaring at Marco, and before anyone could do anything, he launched himself at your friend, fists flying. 

“Stop that!” you screamed, taking your shoe off and getting into the fight to help Marco. You beat the boy with your shoe, making sure to land good hits to his face. A teacher noticed the commotion and broke it up, sending you three to the principal’s office. And although you and Marco explained thoroughly that the boy started it, you were all suspended for a week for fighting. You were sulking about your misfortune in your bedroom the next day when you heard a knock on the front door of your home, followed by your mother calling down to you. You hurried down the stairs; it wasn’t like you had anything else to do.

Chatting with your mother was Marco. You winced, seeing that his black eye was even worse and his lip was still pretty swollen. In his small hand was a small bundled up handkerchief. His face lit up when he saw you, running over to you and giving you a hug. 

“How are you doing?” he asked, brown eyes full of concern. 

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” you replied. “How are you doing? Your eye doesn’t look better.” 

“It’s fine. It hurts a little but it’s not as painful as it was yesterday,” he waved away your worry. He offered the small handkerchief to you. “I made you some cookies. I figured you would need them after what happened yesterday. I’m sorry they were picking on you.” 

“It’s okay, you weren’t the one making fun of me. If anything, I think you’re the one that deserves the cookies. You helped defend me from those bullies,” you said, pushing the cookies back to him. 

“H-how about we share them?” he said, aiming for a compromise. You gave him a warm smile and grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the kitchen. 

“I like that idea.” 

A year later, you were eight years old when that fateful day occurred. You and Marco were in the middle of town, sitting in the mouth of an alley. He had been acting funny all that week, and today he was way worse. He kept tripping over his own feet and stumbling over his words. Over the year, you two had grown inseparable and it concerned you to no end that he was acting so un-Marco-like. 

“Are you okay?” you finally demanded after his words had once again turned into a jumbled mess. 

“[F-First], we’ve been friends for a long time,” he began, not looking you in the eyes. 

“I-I guess we have been,” you agreed, raising an eyebrow at him. _What’s he getting at?_

“Well, I . . . You’re my best friend and I know this isn’t normal but I . . . I wanna friend-marry you!” he blurted out. Your mouth gaped open as he pulled out a small box out of his pocket and got on a knee. He offered it to you, and your hands tenderly took it. Inside was a simple, thick, flat metal band with a pretty green rock set in the center. It was no jewel, but it was still a gorgeous color and had been polished to shine just as bright as any diamond. 

“I . . . I . . . Yes, Marco! I’ll friend-marry you!” you responded, getting on your knees and hugging him. His face was the picture definition of happiness as he slid the ring onto your finger. You couldn’t help but smile as well, admiring the ring on your little finger. “When do you wanna have the wedding?” 

“I don’t know. How much planning do we need to do? What kind of wedding do you want?” he asked. 

“Um, I don’t know. I guess a small one,” you shrugged. To be honest, you had your entire wedding planned out, but that was for when you got a husband. You had no idea what to do for a friend-wedding. “We could have it today, if you want. But I wanna go home and change into something fancier.” 

“I like that idea! Let’s have it today!” he concurred, and the two of your started running home. You chose your favorite [f/c] dress and a sparkly bow in your hair to wear for your friend-wedding, and Marco was in simple pants, a button down shirt, and a nice jacket. You stole your mother’s lace handkerchief to use as a veil, and while Marco disapproved of the stealing, he agreed it was pretty and would make a good veil. The church was quiet when you arrived, and luckily for you the priest was easy to find. 

“Good day, Pastor John!” Marco greeted the old man genially with a wave. 

“Hello, Marco. You two are quite dressed up to the nines. Is there a special occasion going on?” he asked as he lit a few candles. 

“Actually, there is. We were wondering if you could friend-marry us?” Marco inquired. 

“‘Friend-marry?’” the pastor repeated inquisitively. 

“Like getting married, but with friends instead of fiancés,” the young dark-haired boy explained. 

“Sure, I think we have enough time before the next mass to do a friend-wedding,” Pastor John agreed. You squealed in delight, giving Marco a thrilled expression that he mirrored. “All right, grab hands and let’s get started.” Giddiness started rising your stomach as you placed the lace cloth over your head before grabbing Marco’s hands. The look of excitement and happiness was almost too much for you; you grinned back at him. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the friendship between Marco Bott and . . .” he trailed off, looking to you to supply your name. 

“[First] [Last],” you obliged. 

“[First] [Last],” he repeated. “Under the grace of God, we will join these two in holy . . . friendship. Marco, do you take [First] as your best friend in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, rich or poor, as long as you both shall live?” 

“I do,” he said, and you knew Marco meant it. 

“[First], do you take Marco as your best friend in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, rich or poor, as long as you both shall live?” the pastor asked you. 

“I do,” you answered, and Marco knew you meant it. 

“Then, by the power vested in me, I know pronounce you best friends. You may now hug . . . her.” Marco lifted the veil off of your face before wrapping his arms around you in a warm, tight embrace. You hugged him back with just as much force. You had to fight back tears; it may have not been a legitimate wedding, but it was still a beautiful moment that made you feel strong love for your (now official) best friend. 

A year later you were nine years old and the two of you were celebrating your first friend-anniversary. You both decided on a picnic and traveled outside of Jinae into Wall Rose to a nice open field to eat. The sun was shining and the sky was a stunning deep blue. You couldn’t have asked for better weather on your anniversary. 

“[First], have you started thinking about what you want to do for a living?” he asked, digging through the basket for his sandwich. 

“Um, I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it, to be honest,” you shrugged, reaching into the basket. Your hand brushed against his ever so slightly, and your face exploded in color. You grabbed your sandwich and retracted your hand as fast as possible. “A-are you still bent on the Military Police?” 

“Of course I am!” he replied, almost indignantly. “There’s no better honor than serving the King!” 

“I suppose not. It _is_ noble,” you mused, taking a chunk out of your food. 

“I just want to protect him and the citizens living inside of Wall Sina. It would be like being a knight from those fairy tales we were told as kids. . .” he went on, talking about how big of an honor serving the king and royal court would be and how it would be a good job. You nodded and occasionally said, “yeah” when he took pauses to breathe. His voice was like chocolate, warm and smooth. You were at peace, listening to him talk about the future. It was always so soothing. Glancing over at him, you noticed he looked extremely handsome that day. His dark hair against his pale skin dotted with freckles, he was looking incredible. 

_Wait, no, I can’t think that! He’s my best friend! And I’m too young for dating!_ you scolded yourself, looking away from him. _Darn it, am I starting to like him?_

Three years later, you were twelve years old and trying to pacify your sobbing mother near the gate leading into Wall Rose. 

“Mom, I’ll be fine. I’ll have Marco with me, and we’re going to make it into the Top Ten and live in Wall Sina. We’re going to be okay, Mom. I’m going to be okay,” you said, trying to sooth her. 

“Mrs. [Last], I’ll make sure [First] stays safe and out of trouble. I promise,” Marco said, turning his attention away from his own parents to help you. Your mother sniffled and pulled you into a hug. 

“If the military doesn’t work out, come back home. I’m sure your father could work something out where you work at the store,” she suggested, running her hand through your hair. She looked up to Marco. “The same applies to you.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. [Last]. I’ll keep it in mind,” he nodded to her. She let out one more cry before letting go of you. 

“Write us a letter once you get settled into at the training camp, okay?” 

“Okay,” you agreed, giving her and your father one more hug. “I love you guys.” 

“We love you too, sweetie.” Your eyes got blurry as you let go and hopped onto the carriage that was taking you and Marco to Trost. He climbed in after you. The last of the passengers loaded the carriage, and you were off. You and Marco waved goodbye to your parents until you could no longer see them. You looked away, folding your hands in your lap and twisting the friend-wedding ring on your finger. There was a pit in your stomach, and it made you feel sick with anxiety. 

“We’re on to the next big adventure of our lives!” Marco said excitedly. He turned to look at you and noticed your dampened mood. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, [First],” he murmured, putting an arm around your shoulders. You snuggled into him, relishing the cozy, home-like, and fluttery feeling he gave you. 

“I guess I’m just apprehensive about leaving home,” you mused. Your heart was pounding in your chest; not that this was a new feeling, though. When Marco was around, this sort of thing was normal. You hated to admit it, but your feelings towards him had grown less platonic and more romantic. You weren’t sure if he felt the same, but you weren’t going to just _ask_ him. No, if something was going to happen, he would have to make the first move. 

“It’s not like we’re really saying good-bye to our parents and home. I’m sure at some point we’ll get the chance to go back and visit, and in the meantime we can send letters. It’s gonna be okay, [First].” You dabbed your eyes dry, slowly nodding. 

“Yeah. There’s always that.” Your [e/c] eyes met Marco’s loving brown ones. And you knew in that moment, as long as he was with you, you were going to be okay. 

A year and a few days later, you were thirteen years old and had just started your second year of training. Your gear had malfunctioned and you had fallen onto the unforgiving ground. You were extremely banged up, but nothing was broken and that’s all that mattered to you. _By this time tomorrow, I’ll be back out on the field,_ you thought to comfort yourself, leaning back onto some pillows. Boot soles on wood filled the previously silent air as Marco made his way to you. A large grin graced your face as you saw him approach you. “Are you okay for me to hug?” he asked cautiously. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. My arms mostly took the beating,” you lied. His arms circled you and drew you into a warm hug, sending your mind reeling and your heart fluttering. Too soon, he released you and sat in the visitor’s chair. 

“How are you feeling? Jean told me he had to carry you the entire way here and that you had been knocked unconscious.” 

“Yeah, I hit the ground pretty hard, but nothing’s broken,” you informed him. He breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Thank God. I . . . I was pretty worried when I heard the others saying you had gotten hurt during a training exercise,” he admitted quietly. 

“Yeah. I’m fine, though. Just a little banged up,” you tried to convince him. He sighed shortly before looking you dead in the eye. 

“This is probably a bad time to do this, but this just scared me to death and I wanna tell you something just in case, well, you know . . . I . . . I was. I am . . .” his voice dropped to the smallest whisper he could manage. “I – I think I like you.” Your heart was racing faster than a sprinting horse at his words. _He . . . he likes me? He. . . oh my God, what do I do? Do I admit to him, or do I ask him to be my boyfriend? Okay, just start out small, [First], just start out small._

“I like you too, actually,” you admitted, cheeks flaring with color. “I . . . I don’t really know how to do this whole romance thing, to be completely honest with you. Especially considering our situation as soldiers.” 

“I don’t know either. I guess we’ll just learn together,” he told you, the brightest and most loving smile on his face. 

A year later, you were fourteen years old and getting antsy for graduation. You still had another year to complete, but you were ready to get it over with and join the Military Police. It was your anniversary, and for the occasion you and Marco had snuck out of the mess hall during dinner. The two of you sat in a tree out of sight from everyone else as you ate your dinners. 

“Marco, this past year has been wonderful. I’m the happiest when you’re around, and I look forward to the next year I get to spend with you,” you told him, pecking him on the cheek. 

“This year really has been wonderful,” he agreed before clearing his throat. “Look, I-I know we haven’t been together for a long time, but we’ve known each other for most of our lives. And I can tell you, [First], I’ve never been this happy or this in love before. I know we’re young, so I don’t wanna get married just yet – crap! I don’t mean it like that! I mean, I really do wanna married, but we’re young. Not _too_ young to be making important decisions but I just. Oh God, I’m butchering this,” he half-chuckled half-gasped as you felt your heart quicken and adrenaline run through your veins. You had an idea of where this was going. “Look, [First], what I’m trying to say is I don’t want to friend-marry you. I want to husband-marry you, but when we’re ready. That sounded a lot better in my head that it did out loud.” You laughed, grabbing his hand and kissing him. 

“I agree, Marco. I love you, and I wanna get married when we’re ready,” you said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny box. “Marco, you didn’t,” you breathe, staring at the box with wide eyes. 

“I did. I figured you would need a real ring, not something I had a blacksmith make when we were children,” he grinned widely, taking the ring out to show you. It must have taken him _months_ to try and save up enough money for the bronze band with the tiniest jewel set in it. 

“It’s perfect,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. Tears pricked your eyes as he tenderly took your hand in both of his. 

“When we’re ready, we’ll get married. Agreed?” he asked. 

“Agreed,” you replied, a sob forcing itself out of your throat as he slid the ring onto your finger, ring above the one he had given you all those years ago. 

“I love you, Marco,” you cried, pulling him into an embrace. 

“I love you too, [First].” 

A year later, you were fifteen years old as you watched dark grey smoke billowing into the air. Krista had her arms around you, hugging you as gut-wrenching sobs shredded your throat. Everything hurt; your arms, your legs, your head, your eyes, your heart. Everything. 

_What am I going to do,_ you thought as you watched Marco’s corpse burn with your friends’. _I can’t do this. I can’t live without him. I can’t be in a world where Marco isn’t by my side. We were all ready to go. We were all set to join the Military Police and have our happy ending. Why was that taken from me?! Why was Marco taken from me?! How am I supposed to live when I know he won’t be next to me when I wake up, or that I’ll never see his smile again. Oh God, I’m never going to see him again! He’s gone forever and I’m stuck here without him! Why is this happening?! Why couldn’t it have been me? I should have died, not Marco. Marco was so kind and gentle. He shouldn’t have gone like that. He shouldn’t be gone at all. He should be standing here with me, mourning our other friends but looking forward to our wedding._

You grabbed the chain hanging around your neck, keeping your rings safe from breaking on your fingers during battle. The metal was warm as you clutched the rings in your hand. It wasn’t comforting like you thought it would be. No, the memories it brought back cut through you like a knife, making you sob and scream even harder. _Marco, why did you leave me? Why aren’t you here? I need you!_

_I need you; you are my everything._

A year later, you were sixteen years old when were killed during a Survey Corps expedition. It was unreal, seeing Jean screaming at your dead torso just lying on the ground. You never though titans would be your cause of death, but there it was. Your head, arms, and legs torn off since your friends were too late to save you. You were just thankful that you were beheaded first; you knew you wouldn’t have been able to stand the pain of having your limbs torn off. 

The sight of your friends mourning your loss grew more distant as you floated away from it. It was surreal, really, this feeling of weightlessness. But then again, seeing your dead body was also a surreal experience. Before you knew it, you were in a city that looked like of cross of Trost and Jinae, but a lot cleaner and a lot nicer looking. There were no walls surrounding the city as you walked around. People were doing their daily business, talking with merchants, strolling with loved ones, children playing in the streets. _Is this heaven? It’s a lot different than I thought it’d be,_ you thought as you made your way through the crowd, trying to get a hold of your surroundings. 

“[First]?!” a familiar voice rang out over the din of the crowd. Your head whipped around wildly as you searched for the source of the voice. He was standing in the mouth of an alley, looking like he did the night you both got deployed. 

“Marco!” You didn’t even have to think; you started running, catching him in a tight embrace. “Marco, you’re here, you’re here.” A relieved, shocked sob came from you as you buried your head in the crook of his neck. “I missed you so much. I-I thought I was n-never gonna see you again.” 

“I missed you too, [First]. I missed you more than words can describe. I . . . How selfish is it that part of me feels glad you’re here?” 

“It’s a little s-selfish, but I understand it. And I’m . . . I’m so happy to see you again,” you said, sniffling as you tried to recompose yourself. But one look at Marco’s face, and the tears kept coming. Hell, even _he_ was getting teary. 

“Still, the other part of me wishes you hadn’t joined me so soon. You had a long life ahead of you,” he said, kissing the top of your head. 

“You did too. We both did,” you corrected him quietly. 

“This isn’t exactly a life, but whatever this is, we can spend it together,” he said softly. 

“I like the sound of that. I would love to spend the rest of eternity with you, Marco Bott,” you said with tears of joy in your eyes. 

And you did.


End file.
